Willow
Those bitches were gonna die.
That was a horrible thing to say about my so-called ‘friends’—and I used the word friends loosely, because true friends wouldn’t ditch you the day of your scheduled road trip because they’d rather be sunbathing in the Hamptons.
The fucking Hamptons.
Ew.
I mean, how clichéd could you get?
This was why I hated rich people.
It also sucked that I was one of those rich people.
Well, I wasn’t, but my dad was.
So by extension so was I.
When you grew up with a rock star for a dad, cameras and eyes followed you everywhere. It was exhausting.
I couldn’t just be Willow.
I was Willow Wade.
The daughter of the famous drummer Maddox Wade.
People expected greatness from me.
I just wanted to graduate college without slitting my wrists.
I fiddled with the radio, changing it to a country station—my dad would most definitely not approve—and let my blonde hair whip around my shoulders courtesy of the open windows.
The drive from NYU to my childhood home in Virginia was only about five hours, but it felt ten times longer thanks to the crazy traffic trying to get out of the city.
I might’ve yelled at a lot of people.
And waved my middle finger out the window.
My parents would be so proud.
Not.
My failed road trip might’ve been the reason I was headed home and not out west, but I was excited to be back where I grew up.
My freshman year of college had been trying, to say the least.
For most people college was their chance to spread their wings.
Me?
I found it oppressive.
That was probably due to the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.
Did I want to act? Sing? Dance? Join a traveling circus?
I thought by going to NYU it would force me to finally decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
If anything it only made me question everything that much more.
When the sprawling Victorian home came into view I couldn’t stop the smile that split my face if I wanted to.
For the first time since I left last August, I could finally breathe.
I was home.
I parked my car in the driveway and hopped out—pulling in a healthy lungful of clean mountain air.
So much better than the exhaust fume-filled air that littered New York City.
I grabbed my patchwork backpack from the passenger seat and slung it over my shoulder.
Slipping my sunglasses off my face and into my hair I headed for the front door.
I pulled the key from my pocket, rubbing my thumb against the worn hedgehog key cap.
I entered the home and nearly cried at the rush of familiarity.
I was still majorly bummed that my plans for a road trip hadn’t worked out, and I’d probably mope about it for a week in a bout of teenage angst, but being home wasn’t all that bad.
I’d missed my house.
My parents.
My siblings.
And even the hedgehogs.
My dad had a thing for hedgehogs, so by extension I guess I did too. They were pretty cute.
The house was eerily quiet as I stepped inside and I looked around for my brother Mascen and my sister Lylah.
Neither was anywhere to be seen.
I moved further into the house, skimming my fingers over the familiar pale yellow walls on my way to the kitchen.
No one appeared to be home and I needed food.
Humming softly under my breath I rounded the corner into the spacious kitchen and immediately regretted my destination.
“MY EYES!” I screamed, slapping a hand over my eyes. “My poor innocent eyes!” I gagged for added effect.
Catching my mom and dad making out in the kitchen like a couple of teenagers had not been on my to-do list for the day.